thecapitol | [closed]

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[closed]

Who| Roland Deschain and the Signless
What| slightly tipsy advice and funtimes
Where| between Capitol nightlife and the Tribute Center
When| around the end of the arena
Warnings/Notes| a teensy bit of alcohol use (obviously), possible brief memories of disembowelment, brief mention of someone having set a Capitolite on fire a little bit - nothing out of the ordinary for the Games is anticipated

The air is cold out here, and quiet for an odd moment before he catches the sound of young voices raised in laughter some distance down the street. Still quiet compared to the cloying press of people in that room they've just escaped, the people and the cloying press of their desires. "I'd forgotten how it was," he says, reaching up to tug at the ruff of fur sitting around his neck. The pink stuff in that glass he's still holding sloshes around as he does it but, of course, does not spill. Hand-eye coordination, a handy skill for any occasion.

"Diplomacy, I mean. Making nice. Has it always been that way?" He turns to look down at Signless, pressing his other hand between Signless' shoulder blades and leaving it there. "Good thing you brought me as your bit on the side, and not Psiionic. Last time a Capitolite put their hands on that many parts of me, he set them on fire." He blinks down at that familiar face for a moment. Was Signless one of the people he was supposed to avoid mentioning that to? Surely not. No, it's fine.

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When Signless turns toward him Roland finds himself smiling, and the light pressure of a head against his shoulder, the familiar feeling of one of those blunt horns nudging against him, is a relief for nearly half a second. Then Signless' drink, at Signless' chest height and Roland's stomach, presses one of its cold ribbed edges into exactly the wrong spot and all of Roland's muscles tense. He stifles the sound before it gets far, tamps it down deep inside his throat and, very slowly, pushes the Signless' drink away. He wraps his callused fingers loosely around Signless', ensuring the glass stays at a distance, and wills his heart to slow.

"I think I do," he says, after a moment to reorient himself back onto the path of their conversation. "Strange, that we need someone's help in order to speak to one another. There was a time- But that time's passed, hasn't it? I wonder, were Cuthbert still here..."

He shakes his head. He wouldn't think down that path when sober, no use thinking down it now.

"But this isn't the time for this sort of thinking, is it?" His free hand adjusts itself around Signless shoulders and he looks around, not moving just yet but deciding which way they ought to go.

If Signless were in a more perceptive state of mind he might notice Roland's moment of panic. He might even correctly interpret the reasoning. As it is it slips past his notice and all he thinks is how much he approves of having their hands touching. Good move there, Deschain.

"If it's troubling you, there's probably never going to be a better time. Trust me, you can't let these things fester. That's how they get worse. Though if you've got other ideas..."

They probably should at least make it back to the tribute tower sometime tonight. Maybe.

"Other ideas?" Adaptable as Roland can be, the gears of his mind right now are coated in something sweet, sticky, and, hm, maybe a little alcoholic, and when they try to shift the track of his thoughts to this new topic, they stick.

"None," he says, the hand still wrapped around Signless' pushing the glass further to the side and a little more away. "That's why I asked advice of you. Alain favors you, doesn't he? Even if you've no ideas, your presence might help."

"Favors me?"

Well. That's one way to put it. Signless himself isn't so sure of where he stands with Alain. They're united in their feelings about Roland, that much is certain, but there are other things on which they deeply disagree. He'd like to think they're friends.

"I guess he does. I hope he does, I like him. If you want me there, I'll be there for you. I'll help you with Karkat too if you'd like. We'll need to talk to him after what happened."

"Aye," Roland murmurs, looking troubled, and starts again on their rambling path back to their rooms. One of their rooms, anyway. Doesn't matter which. "Aye, and soon, probably. I cry your pardon, Signless. I should've thought of that first, before coming with you tonight. The boy deserves more attention from me right now than that."

He shakes his head.

"No, no. I asked you to come with me, I wanted you here. I hate doing this sort of thing alone, and I thought you could use a distraction. Maybe not the best one I could've given you, but..."

He loses his train of thought and, as a result, the end of his sentence. He blinks, flicks one ear thoughtfully, and starts again.

"But. I know Karkat, and I know he needs time to think on his own. Approach him while he's still scared and angry and it'll just make him worse."

The flicked ear brushes against the pit of Roland's arm and he grunts, shifting his shoulder. "I'll take your word on that over my own. You know him best."

Roland looks up, watching the tower made for all the tributes loom larger as they get close. "But what I did-" Roland hesitates, needing a moment to push the memories aside. "That shouldn't be a memory any boy's got in his head. Don't suppose it's different for those of your kind, is it? Less enduring, somehow?"

It might be an indelicate question. Roland knows well enough the whole course of Signless' life before Panem, that he'd spent everything trying to make sure none of his kind had to experience those extremes of violence and cruelty. He asks it anyway, the kind of thought he'd stop before it left his lips on any other night. But on this night the pretense, even for a couple seconds, that it might be alright because the boy isn't human is comforting, and his mind is working too slow to keep himself from indulging it.

Oh, Roland. With any other troll that might be true, but Karkat is not just any other troll any more than his ancestor is. There's a tinge of guilt in Signless's voice as he answers, because he knows this isn't the most reassuring response Roland could hear right now.

"He'll take it hard. Incredibly so. He's like me -- he feels things very deeply and he hates to kill. He's a little more willing than I am, but you're a friend. There's no way it didn't hurt him."

Jeez, that's bleak. He tries to rein this conversation in, tries to set it back on some sort of good track.

"We'll talk to him. We'll set it right. Not tonight though, I don't think I have it in me for that kind of conversation. I can barely manage this one." Ha, ha. It's funny, you see, because he may in fact be a little drunk. Ha.

Roland grunts, taking a slightly too-wide step over a dip in the sidewalk as he studies the Signless. That news about Karkat, bleak as it may be, is not really news because it is nothing Roland had not already expected. It is also, he thinks, all there is to say on the matter, and so for tonight he follows Signless' lead and lets it be.

"Mm," he says, and runs a hand roughly over the back of Signless' neck. "You're alright. Done this plenty of times before, haven't you? And come home far worse than this after it." Roland notices neither his use of the word home, nor the way his hand is still moving in invisible patterns over Signless' neck and the top of his back. One of those things would have been pleasant to notice; the other possibly not. Maybe the two cancel each other out.

Edited (it might help if I finished my sentences before posting) 2015-12-22 00:17 (UTC)

"I wouldn't say far worse," he says, though his voice has a faraway quality to it. He's only half paying attention to what he's saying; most of his brain is occupied with the feel of Roland's hand on the back of his neck. It starts a purr up in his chest and throat, soft but strong.

"It's not the drinking that's the problem. It's the company, but you fixed that pretty well."

(ooc:I've been wanting to use this icon to indicate Roland giving someone The Sexy Eyes since I got it, thank you.)

Roland 'mm's again, raising his eyebrows down at Signless once he hears that noise the man's making.

"I've heard that plenty tonight," he says, still watching Signless closely as he presses his thumb firmly against the side of Signless' neck, moving it slowly down and back up again. "Sounds much better coming from you. Mayhap we'll do this again some time, aye, if you favor my company so well?"

(ooc: so sessy)

"I'd like that. They're always begging me to come out, and there's only so often I can say no without it reflecting badly on me. With you... could be good for both of us. Get that extra public approval."

His voice has a fond, sleepy quality that's very at-odds with the words he's saying. Goodness, but that feels good. He carries so much stress in his neck and shoulders that even a little bit of what is only barely a massage feels incredible.

"Sounds like a fair plan," Roland says, but like Signless, there are other things here that he is paying most of his attention to.

"Won't need me to carry you up again, will you?" His voice is warm, teasing, and he tugs Signless closer to him as he walks through the Tribute Center doors.

"I don't think so," Signless says, a bit of a laugh in his voice. It had been funny as much as it had been embarrassing, to have to be carried all the way up to district four by his lover. At least they hadn't tried to go all the way up to Twelve, and they probably won't tonight either.

"Just let me lean on you."

Roland grunts, leading them toward the elevators and knowing his step is less than steady, and that the scavengers who circle about this place with their picture machines will be able to tell that too, but that's done Signless' reputation good before, hasn't it? Odd place, this Capitol. He puts it out of his mind, and as they make it to the elevator doors he lets his hand slide down to press over Signless' side the same way he pressed his thumb against Signless' neck a moment ago. He watches Signless' face as he does it, eyebrows raised in a silent question, although he's more than sure he's gauged the mood right, here.

He has. Signless's face is markedly flushed as they step into the elevator and the doors close behind them, something the small group of cameramen following them are no doubt delighted to note. He's sure he'll see pictures of this sooner rather than later in some magazine or another but he doesn't care. This is nothing he's ashamed of.

"Getting right to the point, hm?"

"Point?" Alain is lost to Roland, perhaps forever, in ways he does not - or maybe does not want to - understand. He has pushed the boy far from him in nearly the worst way possible. But there's this. There's the slow, syrupy feeling of a little too much drink moving through him, there's the warm body against his, there's the memory of that familiar voice promising that Roland wouldn't handle things alone, that he will be there. There's his face in front of Roland, flushed and pleased, and it's a relief to slump over far enough to press his forehead to the top of Signless' head, to let his hand keep moving along Signless' side and to shift his head around and lay a lazy kiss at the place where the nearest horn grows out from Signless' skin. "Unless my memory's misled me very badly there's no point down there. Something a bit more flexible, hmm?"

That gets a rather unpretty giggle out of him. It's crass perhaps but it's not incorrect, and it's a subject that takes a good deal less thought than the ones they've been discussing thus-far. Not that he wants to ignore the real issues that still loom over them, but tonight started out as a distraction and it can damn well end as one when they're both too soaked in alcohol to do much else.

"Sure you're remembering right? It's been a while since you checked."

The giggle, pretty or not, sends a smile stretching its tired way across Roland's face.

"If you were a woman," he murmurs, pressing his face into the curling, comforting mass of Signless' hair, "I might think that a complaint."

The elevator stops. Roland hears it, but doesn't bother to step out. There's someone waiting there, he can hear them too, breathing and shifting their weight and wanting to come inside, and he acknowledges them not at all. This is the way of this place, isn't it? Maybe he's finally acclimatizing to the way people live here.

Nevermind that, he thinks, and slips the hand on Signless' side around to the small of his back, pressing his hand over the skin there and enjoying the warmth, taking a deep breath in and out against Signless' head. This, and only this, is what Roland needs to mind just now.

"How could I complain when it's not your fault," Signless points out. How could it be when Roland's been stuck in an arena for weeks? He's missed this closeness as much as Signless has, Signless knows that for a fact.

"I'm sure you'll be plenty thorough now that you've got the chance to be." Despite the clear flirtation in his words his tone is quiet, unhurried. He could stand like this for hours if it were an option, but the increasingly-annoyed sound of a tapping foot is making it clear that it isn't.

Roland lets the moment stretch. Why not? He gets few enough pleasures in this place, and he supposes it's well for him that this is the only Capitolite (or so he presumes, the shoes making that tapping sound heeled, and he's seldom known Capitolites to wear anything else) that they've run into. As he is, Roland knows, he's like to do exactly what he's doing now - piss them off a little, just because he can.

But he can't do that. Not much, and not for long. He stays curled around Signless, takes a moment to breathe in the scent of his hair and so reminds himself just why he can't afford to be anything less than polite.

"Pardon," he says, straightening up and heading toward his room. "It's been quite a night for both of us."

And with that he dismisses them utterly, bending to put his lips about as close to Signless' ear as he can without bending over completely. "All the same, if any part of you feels neglected, I'd have you tell me of it. Or, hmm. Perhaps a demonstration'd serve better."

Edited (just wanted to offer to keep the capitolite around if you want to play with them a bit) 2016-01-16 20:50 (UTC)

That voice right against his ear makes Signless grin, makes a warmth creep down his spine and settle in his stomach. For all that Roland is often rough around the edges, he's got seduction down pat (whether that's purposeful or not is entirely up to interpretation).

"I'll demonstrate all you like once we're in private. I want out of this ridiculous outfit anyway."

They leave the Capitolite standing there gawping after them. While Roland was whispering, Signless certainly wasn't. Let them know what kind of show they're missing. Let them gossip. It's nothing the Capitol doesn't already know about and beyond that he feels a little like bragging right now.

Roland chuckles, and the sound is not low or smooth or seductive. So much as a chuckle can be, it is perhaps the opposite of those things. It is genuine, though, and warm, as warm as the hand Roland settles against Signless' neck as he makes his way to his room, brushing his short, blunt fingernails against the skin there. If anyone else is here to see them, they don't approach. It's probably just as obvious now, Roland thinks, as it was a few seconds ago at the elevator that the two of them are busy, and after a few seconds he's there and holding the door open.

"That'll make it into their news for sure, now. Might even get us another one of those stories from Mr. Bachman."

"As if he isn't halfway through one already just on his own. I don't think he ever stops writing them."

It's funny because it's true. He's pretty sure he's never seen a magazine that publishes Bachman's work go a month without at least a chapter or two, and he does make it a habit to keep up with these things.

Of course, Mr. Bachman, his incredible writing speed and his questionable choice in subject matter are all things that aren't important right now. What's important is the linger tingle of those fingers on the back of his neck and the familiarity of this room and pulling Roland into it after him so they can be well and truly alone.

"And yet he never really gets it right."

"Oh? You've been keeping up with those tales of his?" Roland may have spent the whole walk back leaning against Signless but now he does it a moment more, feels the two of them pressing next to one another, close, then draws back to give himself room to free the Signless of whatever it is he's been shoved into tonight. The motions are easy, familiar, even if the specifics of this particular outfit aren't. Just the act of shedding the man's clothes for him is welcome, taking Roland far from the long, watchful nights in this latest arena. Roland does not rush it. He starts with trying to free Signless from the top down, and he takes his time.

"Hope I haven't ravaged you too often while I was away," he murmurs, his voice warming up and slowing as the well practiced motions of all this begin to sink into him. "How is it those stories like to put it? Ravaging your, ah..."

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probably nsfw in discussion if not more from this point if anyone's reading this. HI THERE HOW U

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